The Doctor and the Saboteur
by GazingAbyss
Summary: My own take on how the "James Bond is a Timelord" theory could work.
1. Part 1 - Six

One of the most important things I've learned over the years is that there are no truly hopeless situations, only those that appear so.

That said, this one was rather convincing. My hands, tied behind my back. Any tricks I'd brought with me, already used and discarded. And my gun, in the hands of the megalomaniac currently standing before me, gesturing with it as he elucidated his plans.

"In a few moments," my captor, Novella Snipes, continued, "the satellite network will be activated, and I'll have complete control over this planet's communications system." I listened even as I wracked my brain for a plan. If this was a hopeless situation, it was the first I'd ever encountered, and any word being blathered in front of me could contain the hint I needed to escape.

Suddenly, a man burst into the room, his long trench coat whipping forward as he slid to a stop. His wide eyes were the same colour as the hair above that stood up like the crest of a cockatoo. Based on the look my host shot the newcomer, I gathered that he was not expected.

"Ah, now this looks like the right place," the man enthused with a wild grin as he took in the complex machinery lining the long room. "You always know you've found something important if blinking lights are everywhere, especially if they come in, let's see, one, two, three, four," he counted, pointing, before giving up with a dismissive wave, "oh, at least a dozen different colours."

His oddly elated words were said in perfect Received Pronunciation, and I wondered where he could have possibly come from. MI6 wouldn't have sent a second agent, not without briefing me, but who else would send this man?

As I, along with my captor, watched in shock, the man strolled around the room, casually examining the machinery. "This is beautiful though," he said with admiration, clearly determined to not stop talking. "Amazing workmanship." He ducked down low, peering at a panel of switches. "From Mirabilis Minor, if I'm not mistaken."

"That's enough," Snipes said, finally remembering he had the gun, and thus the apparent control over the situation. "Stand up. Hands up where I can see them."

"Ooh," the newcomer gave a little chuckle and looked over at me with a wink. "Guess I better do what he says."

"Who the hell are you?"

The man pulled himself up straight and grinned. "I'm the Doctor."

"It's obvious MI6 aren't the only ones who know you're here," I ignored the man to address Snipes. "Give it up. Cut your losses here and now."

He wouldn't listen. They never did. But the strange man, the Doctor, whoever he worked for, could use the distraction as Snipes glanced over at me.

Or not. "He makes a compelling point," the Doctor mused, having way too much fun while the fate of the world hung in the balance. "Maybe you should listen to him." I shot him a glare, hoping he got the idea to put whatever plan he had into motion, but he only responded by shaking his head. "Oh, don't pout. He's only a middle-man," he jerked his thumb towards Snipes. "Really has no idea what's going on. But I think if I show him this," his voice lowered to a serious tone as he produced an glowing, humming object that I could not identify, "He might let us talk to who's really in charge."

Transfixed by the device in the Doctor's hand, Snipes gulped. "I, I don't," he stammered, "I can't... It… She only talks to me when she wants to, I can't – "

"That's enough, little human," a voice like buzzing static electricity hissed through the air. It was unlike any voice – any sound – I had ever heard. For a moment I wondered if Snipes had given me some sort of drug before I discarded the thought as useless.

"I'm sorry," Snipes was yelling up at the rafters. "I don't know how he got in."

"If he is who he says, you could not have kept him out," the voice said, almost reassuringly. "But his presence does mean you are no longer useful."

"Wait, no!" Snipes had time to scream before the entire room thrummed, and Snipes seemed to simply shake himself apart, letting my Walther PPK clatter to the floor, his last words overlapped by the Doctor's own cry of "Stop!"

"Stop this," he continued, angrily stalking past me, his eyes dead set on something behind me. I heard a low mechanical buzz as he brushed by, and the handcuffs on my wrists loosened. "This will kill millions."

"Yes," the voice hissed in agreement. "And enslave the rest."

I flexed my wrists experimentally, and the handcuffs fell away, almost clattering to the floor before I stole them out of the air. Holding the bindings tight in my hand to keep them from jangling, moving slowly, I shifted my body, turning as far as I could without making it completely obvious that I was free.

The scene behind me seemed to stretch away as the universe and what I knew of it reeled. The back half of the room was still there and yet somehow… Not. Through the shimmering reality I saw circuitry suspending in space, connected by light, I saw metal moving as if it lived, I saw slick, black tendrils at the centre of the chaos.

Even in the midst of all that, the logical part of my brain still worked. Underlying my utter confusion was a powerful current of sanity that told me that this thing, whatever it was, could not possibly think of me as a threat. A mistake, on its part.

I stood out of the chair, not taking my eyes off the maelstrom before me as I crouched to retrieve my weapon. In my peripheral vision I could see the man, the Doctor, standing unfazed, the glowing device still perched in his hand.

"Can't do any of that without this, can you?" he asked with a slightly unhinged smile, and then whirled to face me and hurl the device high into the air. "Catch!"

I dove forward on pure instinct, snatching the small globe as it finished its narrow arc. The Doctor had already raced away, leaving me the focus of the being's attention. I scanned the room to see him furiously banging at a control panel.

Right. Distraction.

I whipped my gun up in front of me and fired off a few rounds at the twisting metal that reached for me. It jolted back as the bullets bounced off it, the momentary delay giving me just enough time to turn and run.

As I raced down a corridor, fleeing from the room and its monstrous occupant, shrieks and crashes came from behind me. The rebar and cement of the underground facility were being rent apart as I ran, and I dared a glance back to see flowing liquid darkness chasing me. I didn't know what the Doctor's plan was, but I hoped it worked fast – and that the inky tendrils hadn't ripped him apart as they passed by in pursuit of me.

Metal rattled beneath me as I leapt up onto a catwalk and kept moving, every pounding step sending a shudder through the structure. The long narrow path was suspended over Snipes' – or, more likely, the thing's – server bay, poised to wreak havoc on every communication network on Earth. It was a straight shot to the reinforced bunkers.

Without warning, I was thrown to the side. The straight path had ripped apart behind me with a pained squeal, and I was flung into the railing. Pain shot through my stomach as I nearly doubled over across the thin metal. Black tinged the edges of my vision, threatening to overtake me. Gritting my teeth, I ignored the pain and forced small shallow breaths in my lungs and staggered to my feet, determined to keep moving.

There was another screech, and the catwalk was plucked out of place, leaving scraps of metal dangling from the bolts still buried in the cement walls. It floated in midair for a fraction of a second, long enough for me to realise what was about to happen. I grabbed onto the railing with my free hand, and, with the arm that still held the device the Doctor had thrown to me, I looped my elbow around the support.

The thing pursuing me upended the catwalk and gave it a shake, like an infant that doesn't yet understand how to play with its toys. I clung to the railing with all my strength, my legs flailing below me as I tried to find something to climb up on.

The catwalk lifted further up into the air, bringing me face to face with the inner mass of the thing attacking me. It looked like furling and unfurling darkness. My eyes couldn't find a point of reference to orient myself on, and the shape of the writhing mass eluded me.

"Give me the device," its voice again stained the air, "And your end will be quick."

Below me the servers thrummed, a new vibration joining their pulse. I glanced down to see sparks shooting from one bank of computers, and another flashing error warnings. There was a long silence from the thing as we both understood it was over.

"Looks like the line just went dead," I said.

There was a howl like wind tearing a building from its foundation. The sound undulated, punctuation by harsh crackles, and I wondered if this was an incoherent scream of rage or curses in an inhuman tongue.

Energy throbbed through the catwalk, shocking all my muscles at once, and I lost my grip. I hit the ground completely limp, my body automatically absorbing the shock. With a groan, I managed to roll over and climb to my feet, bruised but not broken.

In a flash of movement, the Doctor raced by before stopping short and whirling around. "Ah, there you are," he greeted me cheerfully. The room gave an ominous rumble. "Time to get going!" He raced off.

"Where are you going, that's the wrong way!" I called after him.

"I've got a shortcut!" he called back.

I paused for a split second – it was all the time I could afford – but my instinct told me this man knew what he was doing. I followed, bursting through a doorway to find the Doctor rushing towards an old police box.

The presence of the police box raised a few questions, but, under the circumstances, none of them were a priority. The real question was, how did the Doctor plan to escape when he was wasting time by going into the police box?

He spun around in the open doorway and gave me the most intense stare I had ever seen. "Get in," he urged.

"This is ludicrous, I don't – "

"Just trust me and get in!"

Shaking my head in disbelief – more at myself than the Doctor – I did what he said, running through the open door of the police box. Behind me, the Doctor shut the door, but not before I heard the thunder of the epicenter of a massive explosion and felt the wave of heat slam into me.

I only felt the pain a few seconds later.

There was a force like I had been punched in the back, then a slice of pain. A fraction of a second later, my abdomen flooded with ice. Peeling aside my black tuxedo jacket, my gaze slowly lowered to my stomach. A slender piece of metal lanced through my body, the slick coat of blood making the spike resemble the shiny black tendrils of the thing outside.

I fell first to my knees. Then I tilted to the side, collapsing to the floor. I could hear how hard I hit the ground, but I didn't feel it.

In a flash, the Doctor was kneeling by my side, his brown eyes wide as he took in my injury. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

"It was - " I coughed up blood, "It was bound to happen sooner or later." My gaze unfocused, and for the first time the depth of the space behind the Doctor, the size of the interior of the police box. "The inside doesn't match the outside," I commented weakly, my vision contracting.

"No," the Doctor smiled sadly as he shook his head. "No it doesn't."

My eyes closed to slits, the last of my strength draining out onto the floor. I felt like I was melting and spreading along with it, thinning until I would disappear.

I'd always wondered what my death would be like. It came with the job. Overall, a quick death just after going into shock seemed like one of the better options.

A throb in my chest told me I'd spoken too soon. Another one on the other side of my ribcage echoed it as awareness once again exploded through my brain. The icy feeling around the spike through my stomach was replaced with heat. No, heat didn't do it justice. This was pure fire, and it was racing up from my wound, spreading to my limbs, sending blinding white agony into my brain. The inferno grabbed every cell in steely talons, tearing me apart from the inside out. There was a dull clang as the shard of metal somehow squeezed its way out of my body as if it was nothing more than a splinter. I opened my mouth in a scream of pain.

The Doctor's eyes opened wider than I would have thought possible, golden flares reflected in his pupils.


	2. Part 2 - Seven

"You - You're a - But How?" the Doctor babbled, grinning insanely. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"What the bloody hell are you going on about?" I demanded. His smile wasn't appreciated. Not when I was dying. I made a grab for his tie, not expecting to be able to even lift my arm, and easily got a handful of fabric.

The Doctor jumped back, but I maintained an iron grip, slowly rising to my feet. Despite what should have been a fatal injury, I felt fine.

"What just happened?" I continued the interrogation, yanking the Doctor closer so that his face with inches from mine. This had the added benefit of causing him some discomfort - and giving me some satisfaction. "Who do you work for?"

"Well, we've suddenly gotten a bit violent, haven't we?" I noted his smile had turned nervous.

"Answer the question."

The Doctor's face went hard. "I am not your enemy," he told me, surprisingly stern.

"That's not what I asked."

"Let me go, and I'll answer."

Narrowing my eyes, I shoved the Doctor away. He stumbled back a pace before focusing his attention on smoothing out his tie.

"I'll have you know, this was a personal gift from Sanjuanita Giallo," he sniffed.

"Who?"

He was lost in thought a moment. "Right. Twenty-sixth century. Probably never heard of her. Nevermind."

"Stop playing games," I glowered. "What's going on?"

"Ah," the Doctor nodded. "Yes. Well, that indefinable blackness out there is - was - the Neocaltra of Mintrinell, and she was all set to send out a sonic aurora powerful enough to resonate throughout the entire planet. And it just so happened she was broadcasting at just the right frequency to turn every human who heard it into her slave. Of course, it just so happened that I intercepted the Argovian Lexidiamond she needed in order to activate her machine."

"I see," I replied. I really didn't. Maybe MI6's interrogators would be able to glean some information from this strange man's ramblings. "And what did you do to me?"

"You?" The Doctor raised his eyebrows almost to his hairline. "What do you think I did to you?"

"A few minutes ago I was bleeding to death on the floor," I snarled. "And now I'm fine. We both know this wasn't some miracle. So what did you do to me?"

"You don't… You really don't know?"

"Know what?"

The Doctor looked at me as if I'd grown an extra head at the same time I'd somehow healed. "You regenerated."

"How?"

"Well it's - It's what we do. When we're injured," he said, before adding, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Instead of dying."

"What who does?"

"What… Species," the Doctor started, picking his words carefully, "Do you think you are?"

Now I was the one to look at him as if he'd gone mad. "Human."

"Ah." The expression on the Doctor's face was a complex mix - sadness, pity, disappointment, clouded with curiosity and confusion.

"And I suppose you're going to tell me you're not?" I raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm a Timelord," the Doctor responded. "And only Timelords should be able to regenerate."

"So you're telling me I'm what?" I asked. "An alien?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Right." In a smooth movement honed by years of practice, I grabbed my gun from its holster and levelled it at the Doctor. "I don't know whether you're crazy or just acting. Honestly, I don't care. I'll leave that to someone else to figure out. You are coming with me though." Keeping the gun trained on the Doctor, I slid my hand into my breast pocket and retrieved the transmitter Q had given me, activating it.

"What's that then?" the Doctor asked.

"A signal that I'm ready for extraction."

"Just one problem," he told me. "It won't transmit from inside the TARDIS. Or, it will, it's just that the signal will be blocked. Tell you what though," the Doctor strode over to the circular console in the centre of the massive room. "I've got a few questions of my own for your bosses. You tell me where they are, and we can be there in no time."

"Yes, because I'm just going to tell you where the nerve centre of British intelligence is."

"Nevermind, got it," the Doctor nearly sang as he fiddled with a few controls. He pushed up on what appeared to be some sort of throttle, and a repeated screech like a key being dragged across piano strings rasped through the air.

"Not another move," I warned him.

"See, the TARDIS can trace the exact source of the signal," he continued blithely, "Bringing us right to it." The pulsing sound dissipated as he lowered the throttle. "We're here," he grinned.

"What are you talking about?"

The Doctor gestured behind me. "Open the door."

My eyes narrowed. "You."

"Alright, fine, me," he held up his hands in mock surrender. The tip of my Walther PPK followed him as he jogged across the room and the slid the door open, presenting what was outside as if it were a magic trick.

It might as well have been. Behind the door were the bustling offices of MI6, one of the lowest, most secure sublevels, in fact. I let my weapon fall to my side as I stepped forward, in a daze. We had been halfway across the world a second ago, and now, here I was. Stepping out of a police box, of all things, into the room full of people who had been monitoring much of my actions over the past few weeks, feeding me information.

"Drop the weapon!" came a scream from the other side of the room. "On the ground," someone else yelled at almost the same time. A red light flashed and alarms blared. Of course. The police box was an unexpected intrusion.

I did what they said, dropping my gun and going down on my knees.

"Identify yourself!"

"I am agent James Bond, code name double-o-seven," I called over the din.

Despite my protest, I was quickly hustled into an interrogation room. The Doctor had been brought to the same one I was in, against all protocol, apparently on his own request. I only had a few moments to gape at my reflection in the one-way mirror before M hurried in, a file in hand.

"M!" I stood to attention, my chair skidding back behind me. "I don't know what's going on, but I swear to you, I am James Bond."

"I know, James," M replied with a nod, gesturing for me to sit. I waited for her to seat herself across from me before I did. "I understand this is very confusing to you, and I would prefer to have a chance to explain things without our…" she shot an icy look at the Doctor, "Guest."

The Doctor glared, all signs of levity gone. "And hello to you too, Mar-" he hastily cleared his throat. "M."

"M stands for something?" I asked. "I assumed it was just a codename."

"It is," M glared back at the Doctor. "It's just a coincidence."

""And why, may I ask," I began, "Is the Doctor being allowed to sit in?"

"Out of respect for my predecessors," M explained. "And Winston Churchill. Practically gave him free reign over British Secret Services after he prevented an invasion during World War II," she harrumphed.

This seemed like news to the Doctor. "I did?" He shrugged. "Well that's something to look forward to, at least. Plus I apparently get to meet Winston Churchill."

"Wait, him?" I demanded. "_He_ prevented Nazi Germany from invading Britain?"

"I didn't say Nazi Germany," M replied. "On to business." She slid the file in front of her, turning it so it was right side up from my perspective, and flipped it open.

"Always wondered what my file says," I mused, drawing a page closer to myself for inspection.

"This is just the tip of the iceberg," M told me. "Your entire record takes up an entire room several levels below us. And not a small room either."

"I knew MI6 had a fetish for paperwork, but really, a room?" I raised an eyebrow. "I've only been in service for, what, eleven years?"

"Closer to fifty."

I let out a short laugh. M apparently did not share my amusement at her statement.

"In the early sixties, MI6 detected a downed craft a short distance from Edinburgh. We had a team there in time to recover the pilot before he… succumbed to a fatal injury."

Sixties. Downed craft. There was only one thing that would require MI6's intervention for that time and place. "Soviet?"

"No, but that was our first thought as well," M said. "The technology looked like nothing we'd ever seen, and when the pilot performed a miraculous recovery, we feared the Russians had somehow advanced far beyond our understanding."

I let out another laugh. "You're not going to tell me this was a spaceship, are you?" I asked. "And I suppose the pilot was an alien?"

"The pilot was you, James."

If it weren't for M's grave expression, I would have laughed again. She slid a photograph out from the bottom of the file. It wasn't low quality, but it had the graininess of age, and I estimated it was at least a few decades old - dating it back to the era of the downed craft. The man in the photograph appeared unremarkable, but there was a steeliness in his eyes.

"This was what you looked like when we first found you," M explained. "You called yourself the Saboteur and said you were part of a race called the Timelords." She cleared her throat a little. "I get the impression from my predecessor's notes that you could have resisted us, but chose to come back to MI6 in our custody out of some sort of curiosity or sense of amusement. Either way, there was apparently no means by which you could fix your craft."

"And why can't I remember any of this?"

"One of the devices you had with you was capable of erasing your memory and implanting new ones," M said. "Those of a normal human who was devoted to Queen and country. Unfortunately, much of the rest of the technology was destroyed."

"So you wiped his mind and put him to work," the Doctor said. His voice was calm but the undercurrent of disgust was easy to detect. "Charming."

"I assume you're familiar with the technology we used, Doctor," M replied, matching his cold tone. "Tell me, how long would it take scientists - even our best scientists - to be able to decipher Timelord technology?"

"Years," the Doctor frowned. "Decades. If ever, really. No offense."

M's smile was tight. "None taken. So then, how were we able to so efficiently put this device to use?"

The Doctor's expression was blank for a long second. And then he blinked in surprise. "You had help."

"Indeed. You showed us how to use some of your technology, what you didn't destroy," M said, turning back to me. "You asked us to make you think you were human and, as the Doctor said, put you to work. Apparently you were convinced it was the only way you'd have the lifestyle you were accustomed to, at least while you were stranded on Earth."

"I see." I paused. "I'm still not seeing any proof of this."

"Oh, James," M shook her head. "Isn't the fact that this is coming from me, of all people, proof enough?"

There wasn't a response for that. "What happens now?"

"The same thing that always happens. You go back to thinking you're a normal human - relatively normal, anyway - who has just been promoted to double-o status."

"And the Doctor?"

"As I said, he has credentials that allow him to go about his merry way."

"Hold on a minute," the Doctor interjected. "You're just going to wipe his memories again, just like that? Doesn't he get a choice in all this?" He stared at me intently, and for a moment he didn't seem as young as he looked anymore. The weight of years was reflected in his eyes. "You're not stranded anymore. You can come see all of time and space, like you're meant to. Like a Timelord."

M swallowed. "Of course he can choose, but - "

"You're asking me to go with you?"

The Doctor apparently failed to note the disbelief in my tone. "For years, I thought I was the only one left," he effused. "Imagine what we could do together."

Raising an eyebrow, I asked, "Why would you be the only one?"

"Ah," the Doctor's good mood evaporated. "I suppose you crashed before the Time War. Well, not really before, since the war didn't really happen at a specific time, but your personal timeline never intersected the war, so - "

"A war?" I interrupted. "Every other Timelord was killed?"

"Well, not killed," the Doctor backtracked. "The war was sealed into its own bubble of time to prevent it from destroying all of space and time."

"A bubble of time which you sealed," I stated.

"W- Yes, but - How?"

"It seemed like a safe assumption," I shrugged. "How else would you know exactly what had happened and, at the same time, be the only one left outside?" I turned back to M. "I'm ready," I told her.

She merely nodded. She wasn't in the habit of showing much emotion, but as used to her mannerisms as I was, I could tell she was relieved.

"But - " the Doctor started to protest, "I did what had to be done. There was no other way."

"I know," I replied. "That's why I'm staying. As far as I can recall, I've saved Britain - and the rest of the world - quite a few times already. They need me here. And M's right," I added with a self-effacing grin, "I am devoted to Queen and country."

The Doctor's mouth opened to voice another protest but it caught in his throat. His shoulders slumped. "I understand," he finally said and stood. I did the same, facing him.

"Doctor," I nodded my farewell.

He gave the same nod back. "Saboteur," he replied.

* * *

><p>Hey everyone, thanks for reading! This has been a super common (and obvious) fan theory for ages, and I always wanted to present my own idea of how it would work, so here it is. Agreedisagree? Love it/hate it? Leave a review and let me know, or you can find me on twitter, under the handle SeaLenz. Catch ya on the flipsssssss!


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